


a glass of champagne too many, a glass of orange juice more

by Star_less



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cross-Posted on deviantArt, Desperation, Gen, IronDad & SpideySon, Irondad, Long, Long Shot, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual, Omorashi, One Shot, Parent Tony Stark, Parent-Child Relationship, Peter Parker needs to Pee, Slice of Life, Stark Expo, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark has to Pee, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 14:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: Tony whisks Peter off for a special sort of Stark Expo - containing fancy suits, fancy dinners, fancy drinks and Best Behaviour. Unfortunately for the teenager, he quickly finds himself needing to pee. Which wouldn't be so much of a problem... if the place wasn't crawling with journalists ready to tear Peter to shreds. Oh, and if the mentor-turned-father figure himself, Tony Stark, wasn't nursing his own champagne filled bursting bladder.





	a glass of champagne too many, a glass of orange juice more

**Author's Note:**

> Read tags!!! this story contains omorashi so if that isn't your thing, click back and find something that is!  
> If not, enjoy!

“Master Parker, a cocktail?”

Peter looked up to the server slowly, blushing a gorgeous shade of pink as she smiled at him.   
For a long moment Peter had forgotten his voice and when he found it again he stuttered. “I- I’m fifteen… heh… I can’t drink alcohol.” 

She leaned in close to him and Peter got hit in the nose by a gentle floral ball of perfume and tanning oil. “Can I tell you a secret? It’s just orange juice. Here— look how grown up you are,” she cooed, passing him a thin-necked glass with a sugared rim and a blue umbrella poking out of the top. 

“Uh.. Thanks,” Peter whispered, sipping at the drink quietly and blushing again as she winked at him and sashayed off with her cocktail tray in hand. Okay, so his plan to hit on her wasn’t going to work if she thought he was just a little kid. Nevertheless Peter couldn’t deny the fact that sipping out of a cocktail glass did make him feel a little bit grown up, even if all he was drinking was OJ. Why was Peter drinking OJ out of cocktail glasses? Tony had invited him to a super duper fancy schmancy Stark Expo, the first one to advertise the internship programme and Peter’s position as their intern. Peter had jumped at the chance — the last time he had gone to a Stark Expo he had been seven years of age and had forgotten a majority of it now. The problem was, going to Stark Expos when you had to be on your best behaviour and as smart as ever was… a little bit boring. There were no other children of Peter’s age for him to chat to and Mr. Stark seemed to be avoiding him entirely so… it was a little bit boring. All Peter did so far was ask the servants for drinks and those little fancy snacks. This drink was his fourth, and it was going down much slower than the others. Peter knew exactly why… but he could hold on for ages yet, he was more than grown up enough to do so.

☁

Tony fidgeted foot to foot as he waited in the wings to go onstage. He had been headlining all sorts of talks over the years and they had never gotten any easier. Pepper had always said that Tony’s ability to talk and charm the pants off of anyone in the process was his own natural talent, but Tony quite disagreed with that because ‘running his mouth fuelled solely by nerves and anything alcoholic’ didn’t constitute ‘a natural talent’ in his eyes.   
Now, right now, his stomach was entirely empty which made those nervous butterflies all the more pertinent. As one of the waitresses passed by with a freshly filled tray of champagne in flutes Tony flagged her down and took two, drinking them in quick succession in an attempt to drown them out.

“Welcoming the man of the hour, Tony Stark!”

Raucous applause bellowed in Tony’s ears. He sighed, steeled himself, and gave his best smile before marching out on stage with the intention of carrying himself as best as was physically possible.  
As it turned out, the cocktail of nerves adrenaline and alcohol fuelled Tony's speech perfectly well regardless of the aches brewing in his lower half-- or at least that was what Tony thought, if he tried not to pay attention to the wobble in his voice that became evident in the quiet or the fact that he had to slide his hand into his pocket as he paced the stagefloor to give himself as much subtle pressure as he needed. So long as nobody cottoned on to the quickly-developing situation Tony found himself in, he was doing fine. Hell, it was hardly as though he was out-and-out potty dancing up there, right?

“Oh, Tony…” Pepper sighed to herself, watching as he introduced the Expo. Him pacing the stage - fine, he did that at a majority of lectures he headed. Him rambling - fine, although the quiver to his voice was evident. The jerky motions and rubbing of his ears and the back of his neck? Not fine. It made him look nervous, not quite himself, and almost as if he had to…

As if he had to…

Stepping offstage Tony rubbed against the stress lines in his forehead, dipping past Pepper with his eyes firmly trained on the bathroom tucked away in the corner. Piss now, talk later was Tony’s decision.

“Tony!” 

…Or not. A familiar voice drifted to his ears above the bubble of noise, a voice that he recognised and yet couldn’t quite place; or quite frankly had more pressing issues to be dealing with rather than trying to acknowledge and associate with people who could’ve been former colleagues, flings, or one-night-stands. He closed his eyes and pushed past the voice as best he could, very much not in the right frame of mind to have anything more than a brief chat. It seemed like the fuller his bladder became, the extra layer of pressure that rested in his midriff, the less brain power he seemed to have. Tony couldn’t even blame this one on drinking or at least not traditionally; as much as he had drank tonight he felt as sober as anything. No, he had to come to terms with it:

He needed to piss.

He needed to piss so much that he currently felt as if he was floating outside of his own body and if there was one thing Tony didn’t like it was being out of control—especially when he was thrust into situations like this where being _very much in fucking control_ was tantamount to the situation.   
…God.   
_God_. He just… needed to get to a bathroom. Tony exhaled shakily and as he did his breath webbed an ache right the way through him; he swallowed in surprise and jerked back uselessly—as if he thought he was going to jump away from it.  
Unfortunately, the solitary moment of stillness allowed for the voice to bounce in front of him. “Tony!” she repeated, and only when she was stood right in front of him did the barrel of realisation roll into his stomach. “Christine,” he breathed, eyes crinkling at the corners as he was greeted by another dull ache. “What are you… I didn’t expect to see you here…?” 

Christine Everhart. As if meeting with one of your one-night-stands was embarrassing enough, she had to go and pin him down when he was… like this… 

“This is the highest profile internship programme out there, Tony. Kinda my forte.” She laughed, which sent a different sort of stab through Tony’s body – she’s a journalist, dumbass. 

Tony nodded, not trusting himself (or his bladder) enough to let out a laugh. She seemed not to notice his uncharacteristic awkwardness and if she had she was doing a spectacular display of glossing over it. “What’s your poison, Stark? I’d love it if I could ask you a few questions over a drink.”  
Christine did not wait for an answer, slipping past him as though he were nothing and requesting two martinis, dirty, before he could get a word in edgeways. The barstaff were either knowing or taunting him at that point because in what felt like just a minute Christine had pressed a Martini glass into his hand.   
He didn’t want to drink it.   
The thought of letting it slip down his throat was enough to make his mouth anxiously sour with nausea; the thought of it hitting his bladder was simply an extra cruel punch to his gut.   
“Cheers,” Christine said.

“Cheers,” Tony’s smile was weak, so weak it fell off of his face and plopped into his Martini the second his glass was at his lips. He downed it in one (with the vague hope it would take longer to work through his system, by which time he would have pissed the rest of it out) and grimaced as he swallowed, a ripple pulling its way through his bladder in upset response as to what he had just filled it with. He rubbed his side uselessly (it did nothing because Jesus were his fingers itching to go in on his crotch and there was no way he was even attempting to do that here—but at the same time, the thought that he was doing something to alleviate the dull urgent pangs of his bladder was oddly comforting) and offered Christine another smile. 

“So… the Stark Internship wouldn’t happen to be connected to the Avengers Initiative, would it? Friend of a friend, you know how it is. And, Tony, if this is true, is that not a problematic stance to take? That kid of yours is… pretty young. I’m not sure I’d trust him to protect me.”

Tony frowned, shifting on the spot and taking the opportunity to lean against the bar for support. Forcing all of his weight into something was the easiest way to push back against the flutters in his bladder and suddenly the urge to grab himself deadened. He cleared his throat. “No, of course not, Christine. You’re adding 2 to 2 and getting 5.”

By the time their chat was over (a torturously long ten minutes later) Tony’s plan of ‘lean against the bar hoping for the best’ had failed. His legs were crossed, his breaths were effortful, and with each breath he felt something heavy roll forth in his lower half. He was even, if one looked close enough, trembling… and all Tony could do was pray that Everhart hadn’t actually been looking closely enough. Sure, it getting out about the internship was bad, but it getting out that he had to piss was… just as bad. That was without adding in the fact that he hadn’t actually paid any attention whatsoever to her, to his answers or to the interview whatsoever. Go on, go on, go on, his bladder urged him with every pulse.

“Thank you, Christine, I have to… excuse me…” Tony murmured, twisting out of her way with his voice on autopilot. His feet, too, considering he pulled himself in the direction of the bathrooms without having to think about it. _Almost there… please, no one--_

“Mr. Stark?”   
This voice carried itself differently to the crisp tones of the journalists around him, and Tony’s heart tugged itself to his feet upon hearing it – the small, soft, little-kid voice of Peter Parker, and a hand on the back of his jacket. He took a deep breath to compose himself and not tell the kid to leave him be for five more minutes, twisting on the spot to face him. “Hey, sprout.” He said in his best clipped-cool-professional-totally-in-control kind of voice (he apparently had one of those now) with a big plastic smile to match. “What’s going on?”

Peter too bounced on his feet, wanting urgently to ask if he could duck into the bathroom but Miss Potts had made it clear that there was no time for such things and he needed to hold it in until Stark could take him.   
He took a deep breath, trying to untangle Miss Potts’s message underneath the gently frantic ‘go pee!’ yelling going on in his brain. “U- uh. Miss… Miss Potts—Pepper—says you need to come back for a-another talk. I have to join you,” he whispered. 

Tony looked down at the kid and over at the bathroom. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask whether they could be in and out of the bathroom before the talk began. If Pepper asked, he could blame it on the kid. The kid was… a kid, kids had to pee at least every half an hour anyway. His voice crackled a little on the verge of speaking, but to pile on the pressure JARVIS was now hissing in his ear that Miss Potts was expecting him immediately. He sighed, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder and resigning himself to waiting. “Alright kiddo, you ready? Coca Cola for Dutch courage?” he teased. The sparkly smile on his face quickly dropped when he saw Peter wince and gulp and shake his head rapidly. If there was one thing Tony had quickly learned during his time as a mentor for the kid, it was that Peter wasn’t the only one with Spidey Senses. No; Tony seemed to have them too, at least when it came to Peter, and those Spidey Senses were tingling something fierce right now. _Could he…?_  
 _No, surely not. He was fifteen, surely he would have spoken up...?_  
He shook his head. “Come on, don’t want to keep everyone waiting!”

☁

“Here’s the intern himself, Peter Parker!” Tony beamed, squeezing Peter’s shoulders as he urged the boy to stand in front of him. 

Peter’s shoulders were trembling and he was sure it had nothing to do with nervousness, more the fact that being up here in front of so many people made him feel like he was going to soak his dress pants. “H-hello, hi guys!” He said with a jerky wave, bending his legs and marching on the spot before letting out a little chuckle. Even something as innocent as laughing made something in his bladder flutter. He swallowed thickly, his hands balled into fists and pressed to his sides. He really wanted to press his hands between his legs to starve off the tickles, because without his hands there to press all the tickles away it really felt as if he was going to leak, even if he wasn’t. He let Mr. Stark take over, the grown up’s voice quickly drowned out by audience chatter and Peter retreated back into his own head. Ohhhh he had to pee. Maybe… maybe as soon as this was over, Mr. Stark could take him…?

“How are you finding the internship, Peter?” Stark asked. His voice came over the microphone loud enough for Peter to be pulled out of his own head; he jumped. The second he jumped his bladder was jolted, and suddenly the water-balloon in his midsection sprung a leak and dribbled warmth into his boxers. He inhaled quickly, shakily, and jammed his legs together to regain control — and quickly did. “Oh, uh- uh. It’s great, yeah it’s… amazing!” Peter stood on his tippy-toes to reach the microphone, offering a weak smile. 

Tony frowned to himself, his Spidey-dad senses tingling again. “Why don’t you tell everybody a bit about what you do with us?” He said. 

Peter bounced on his toes as he spoke into the mic. “Um.. Mr. Stark recognised me for my work a-at Midtown,” he stammered, “…and being with Stark Industries means I get to work on projects and develop them alongside school stuff. At the moment I’m working with biometrics. I, um.. I also write up the, uh…”   
Mr. Stark hadn’t exactly given him a script. His pulse raced and he squirmed with pressure suddenly aware of the silence and the faces staring back at him and the pulsing of his bladder longing to be released, “…the spreadsheets?”

Stark nodded approvingly, clapping as he stepped toward Peter and swung the microphone out of his hands the second he saw Peter crumble into ‘uh’s and ‘umm’s. “We nurture all our young talent, their skills are an invaluable asset for the future. Since Peter is just fifteen I ask that you direct all questions toward me and not him, please.” Pulling Peter close as he paced—so it looked as though he were ushering the kid offstage— he mouthed, ‘you okay?’. 

“Mr. Stark…” Peter whimpered breathlessly, twisting on his toes as he walked. It was on the tip of his tongue, he itched to say it, but… suddenly he felt really embarrassed. “Yeah, I, um. I’m good.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I don’t know about you but I am _dying_ to take a leak, kid.” Tony muttered. 

Peter hesitated, looking at his feet and offering a meek nod. If Mr. Stark needed to go, then… maybe it was okay if he did too? “…Well. Um.. Maybe a little bit?” He admitted, although his frantic nodding told Stark he was embellishing there.  
“I’ll get you once I finish the panel,” Tony insisted, settling Peter down in the wings.   
Peter curled up and waited, sniffling and rocking back and forth to try and starve off the sensation of piss rolling forward and forcing his tender abdomen to swell up. He curled up and rocked and tensed so hard his muscles scorched in effort and pressed in lines against the backs of his legs. Spider-Man did not have accidents. Spider-Man did not have accidents at the Stark Expo. He repeated this over and over to himself as Tony did his talk and the second he saw the billionaire duck offstage he jumped up onto unsteady feet. “Mr— Mr. Stark!” He called, wincing as gravity squeezed its way onto his full-to-bursting bladder and folding himself at the waist.   
When he looked up having blinked the tears out of his eyes, Stark had gone.

☁

“Hey, honey.” Pepper beamed as Tony slipped offstage and barrelled into her open, waiting arms. She caught his lips in a quick kiss before he could get a word in and felt in an instant how he pressed all of his weight into her. She knew what the reason was, of course – she had spent enough time around Tony that she could pick up on all of his tiny giveaways… like the way he forced all of his weight into her when they kissed. “You did great,” she told him when she pulled away. “Are you alright?”

Tony grimaced, tucked in close to Pepper. “One too many champagnes.” he murmured with a knowing glint in his eye.Pepper hummed, nodded—she had guessed correctly, then—and took his hand in hers for a moment before pressing up against him for another encouraging kiss; this time, with both of their hands pressed flush against his crotch.   
“You’ll be fine, darling.” She said with a rueful smile, ignoring the sharp gasp of breath that Tony drew in or the way he fidgeted beneath her.   
“…Thanks, Pep.” He said after a long moment. He patted her shoulder awkwardly and attempted to twist away.

“…Where d’you think you’re going?” Pepper chuckled, intertwining their fingers.

Tony clung on but looked at her with confusion laced into every feature.  
“To the..?” He murmured insistently, eyeing the bathroom.  
And Peter — he had promised Peter too!  
But all Pepper did was giggle and grip a little tighter. Tony felt sick with realisation and his eyes crinkled pleadingly as he bopped in place. “Pep… Pep, please…”

“You have dinner now. I’m sure you can wait until afterwards.” Pepper whispered in his ear and planted a kiss to his earlobe. Tony would’ve said it was a kiss of sympathy if he didn’t know any better but from the way she was acting, he was beginning to suspect she was getting a kick out of this somehow. As he pulled away—and she let him, this time—she placed a freshly filled champagne glass into his hand. 

Her grip didn’t fully drop until he had taken a sickly gulp.

☁

Peter was not looking forward to dinner. Mr. Stark had very gently told Peter that while he was here he represented Stark Industries and so he had to be on his best behaviour. He had very gently apologised and said that they didn’t quite have time to pee just yet but the second a window of opportunity came free, they would go.

Had he been allowed to use the bathroom Peter may have appreciated dinner much more, but when there was nothing to do but push soup around the plate and listen to the urgent pleads of his bladder then ‘appreciation’ was pretty far down the list. Biting his lip, Peter squirmed in his chair and shifted his weight side to side as best he could, eyeing up Stark. Stark wasn’t squirming as much as he was. Stark was sat tall and was smiling like nothing was wrong.   
Every time Peter tried to do that he felt like there was a string coming right from his bladder that tugged painfully and made him curl up again. His feet trembled on the floor, tightly bunched and tapping in his fancy shiny shoes as he eyed the bathroom in the corner. No one was there now… he could’ve been in and out and have peed already…  
Slowly, he made a move to slip out of his chair – but as he did, Pepper placed her hand on his thigh and prevented him.

“Sweetheart, where are you going?”

Peter flushed pink, body stiffening under her grip in an attempt to stop his squirms before she felt them. “I… I need to use the bathroom, Miss Potts.”

Pepper bit her lip. With Peter being a Stark intern, the journalists in the room would pounce on him like a pack of vultures the second they got a chance. That was why both Tony and herself had made a pact to keep Peter close by tonight.   
“Not yet sweetheart. Tony will go with you soon.”

Peter hesitated. Mr. Stark was talking, so that seemed unlikely.   
“…Okay, Miss Potts.” He sighed.

What Peter didn’t know was that Mr. Stark was trying and failing to stop patrons from plying his own bursting bladder with champagne and was currently one-too-many glasses down. He shifted in his chair and let out a grumpy whimper, bringing his knees up at every available opportunity. Every part of his body was shaking. But he was meant to be Spider-Man, Spider-Man didn’t pee his pants like a baby. Spider-Man had super strength and could hold in all of his pee forever. Unfortunately for Peter, he wasn’t Spider-Man tonight, and he most certainly couldn’t hold in his pee forever. His leg was trembling. Hell, it felt as though his entire abdomen was trembling. He didn’t even think that was possible.   
Peter bit his lip, surveying the Expo grounds over and over again, his breathing ragged.   
They were near the bathrooms.   
Mr. Stark…  
Oh.  
Mr. Stark had… disappeared. When had that happened?   
—and (as the pulsing screeches in his lower half told him) Mr. Stark wouldn’t be rushing him off to the bathroom any time soon.   
Miss Potts… Miss Potts was distracted. 

Wincing, Peter rose to his feet. Something had to give, and that something was going to be his bladder if he didn’t get up. He was going to find Stark and he was going to pee. 

Off Peter went into the bustle of people.

☁

"Peter...?"   
Christine turned in her chair as she sensed the boy wandering around behind her, and something clinched in her chest when she caught sight of him. Funny; she hadn't really imagined that Stark would have let Peter stay at the Expo after their talk given how coveted he was, and for a boy of fifteen being surrounded by alcohol and journalists she had quite thought that the Expo would have been boring for him. As she called his name in surprise he came to a stop in front of her, pitiful - legs and knees tucked in, hands gravitating to his crotch in a move that all mothers of toddlers could understand, and he was bouncing slightly on his toes. 

"Oh, Miss...!" Peter stammered, heat flowering in his cheeks. He had seen Stark talking to this woman a little while ago, so maybe... maybe she knew where Mr. Stark was. "Miss, I- I, uh..." he bounced on his toes. _Spit it out, spit it out, spit it out!!! Then you can piss in a toilet like, you know, everybody else here and not in your super fancy expensive dress pants!!!_  
Another wave rolled forth in his bladder and Peter's breath hitched in panic. The hands that were once gravitating to his crotch had now tightened, and the hitching got a smidgen more higher in pitch. "Miss, do you... do you know where Mr. Stark is...?" he asked. The shy blush on his cheeks ignited and he closed his eyes. _Look at you. She knows. She knows you're going to pee your pants like a baby. And you need Mr. Stark to go to the bathroom with you._ "I know you were uh, talking to him.."

Christine frowned, kneeling to his level. Why the hell did he want Stark? "I was, sweetheart," she nodded honestly, looking around. Clusters of people chatted, laughed and drank around them obliviously enough. Good. This was her chance. No one else thought Parker would be on the grounds."...I'll tell you where he is, if you answer a couple questions for me first." 

Something cold dropped into the bottom of Peter's gut, something cold that told Peter something was going to go very wrong, and he frantically began shaking his head. "I- I can't answer you, Miss," he stuttered. The cold feeling in his gut had spread all over his body and his heart was beginning to pound. So was his bladder; to the point it ached right at the tip of his... well, you know—and he didn't know if it was his panic or whether his body had given up but he suddenly felt like he was going to pee where he stood if he didn’t move. His eyes misted with tears as he stumbled backwards, yelling over Christine's shoulder. "Mr. Stark? Miss Potts?"

This proved to be Peter's undoing.

“Mr. Parker!”

“Peter Parker! Talk to me!”

Suddenly he got pulled by a throng of journalists like predator on prey.   
Microphones thrust in his face. Yelling in his ears.   
Yelling about all sorts of things – things that Peter didn’t quite know how to answer, things that didn’t quite make sense. 

“There are rumours flying that the Stark Internship is a cover-up. Mr. Parker, is it true? What’s really going on?”

“If the Stark Internship program is coming in at a cost of $6000 per year for each intern, how come you got in for nothing?”

Peter whimpered slightly as he looked around, seeing nothing but camera after camera and microphone after microphone — but no Tony. “I- I don’t—I can’t talk to you…” he stuttered, putting his hands over his face to hide from the flashing lights and bouncing on his toes urgently, hyper aware of his urge to squeeze himself like a child but also of the fact that if he did his stance would be plastered across every tabloid running. “I need to find Mr. Stark too, guys, he’s not with me.” He pleaded, backing away with his hands gravitating toward his crotch once more. His body shook all over as he tried to escape and keep a tight grip on his private parts but the shameful sensation of warm wetness creeping into his boxers showed that even his strength wasn’t enough. He whimpered, pitifully, and bowed his head. Where was Mr. Stark!

. . .A footstep away from getting into the bathroom, was where Mr. Stark was - palm flat on the door, jaw clenched, crazed little 'don't piss your pants' mantra going full throttle in his head. He had forgotten Peter entirely. He had forgotten his promise. The urgent little mantra cancelled that out— he had seen his window of opportunity and taken it. He was juuuuuust about to push open the door, juuuuuuust about to let his tightly held muscles loosen slightly, when...

‘Sir, Mr. Parker appears to be in distress. He has been accosted by some journalists’. 

_Shit._

‘Mute…?’ Offered Tony weakly, looking back and forth between the door and the Expo grounds. 

‘I cannot mute any news pertaining to Mr. Parker as per your request, Sir.’

Yeah. Tony was worried JARVIS was going to say that.

☁

“Alright, alright. Show’s over. Hey—HEY! I told you, the kid is off limits. He’s fifteen years old!” Tony shouted, elbowing his way through the crowd of reporters and journalists to pull the kid into his arms. Of course, the sight of Tony Stark forced a cheer to erupt and with it the over-eager journalists elbowed him right back in, er, the less pleasant areas. Holy _fuck_.  
Tony’s face creased in pain and he struggled to draw in a juddering breath as he and the kid burst free from the bubbling throng of people. At the same time a tell-tale warm heaviness rolled forth from his stomach.  
Freed, Tony groaned and rubbed his tender abdomen, legs drawing in together “You okay, kid?” The kid was shaking something fierce, so… that he doubted.

Peter groaned, shuddering in Tony’s grip as his bladder pounded in time with his panicked, ragged breaths. His face was plastered against Tony’s chest, warm and sweaty. “I have to go pee, Mr. Stark I have to go pee _now_!” he blurted.  
Tony’s mouth set into a thin line but the relief dropping into his own stomach was undeniable. If the kiddo had to spring a leak then… well, there was their ticket out of here. “Alright, kid. C’mon, let’s go drain the tank.” He urged.   
That was that. Screw it if the press wanted a look at ‘Stark’s youngest intern’, screw it if the press wondered if said intern was really Tony’s son, they lost out on those priorities when they tried to pounce on said fifteen year old intern… and, er, when both intern and mentor were dying for a pee. Tony was sure Pepper could jerk some strings…

“Jarvis,” he murmured into his ear piece, “Tell Miss Potts something came up and I had to duck out sooner.”

☁

“You alright, kiddo?” Tony cleared his throat and shifted before he looked into the mirror to get a clear shot of the kid sat in the back of the Audi with him. It was an entirely rhetorical question; Tony knew the kid was bursting at the seams.   
If it wasn’t obvious from Peter’s position (curled up, hands pressed between his legs) it was obvious because… hell, he was dying to drain the tank just as much. Damned champagnes. Christ, he wished he didn’t have to do this. The Expo bathrooms would have been fine had every journalist present not zeroed in on the pair. Tony had even considered ducking down against the side of the building and pissing himself stupid, although he supposed the journalists would have a field day with that, too. Then there was the kid… 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter sniffled. His voice was tiny and strained as if it took more effort to speak than ever; presumably because that effort was going towards containing himself until they found a bathroom.   
“I’m gonna explode. Please hurry, I- I don’t wanna make a mess in your Audi.” Or the very expensive tailor-made suit he was wearing, for that matter. 

Tony winced.   
It wasn’t because Peter was going to make a mess. Peter was a child and that was what children did sometimes. They couldn’t help it.   
It was because at just Peter’s words his own bladder teased him and reminded him that he too was going to make one hell of a mess if he didn’t hurry up. He wasn’t a child like Peter, for Christ’s sakes, he was a grown man – he was fully capable of holding his piss should there be a need to… except no, here he was, hyperaware of the aching mass in his lower half and how with even the tiniest shudder the mass shifted, closer and closer to dribbling out. “I’m hurrying, Peter,” he murmured, palms slick with sweat as he rounded a corner and forced his foot down on the accelerator. Even with his foot flat on the pedal his leg shook with urgency and Tony swallowed back the rising lump of panic that was brewing in his throat. He was fine. He was fine, Goddamnit. Perhaps this was one of the times that Tony regretted having the ‘I drive my own cars’ rule and wished that Happy was here to go full blast on the accelerator—but Happy wasn’t here and the kid was too young to drive so all Tony had to do was be fine. His leg may have been shaking, his palms may have been sticky with sweat, his bladder might’ve toyed with letting out a spurt when the car sped over a particularly bumpy section of road… but he was _fiiiine_ …

Until he braked in front of McDonalds.

The cloaked in darkness, evidently locked McDonalds.

“Fuck!” Tony spat out, shifting in his seat and squeezing the wheel tighter in desperation. He had been so close – so close that he had allowed himself to relax a little because hey, neither of them were going to piss in the car after all. Blowing out an agitated breath through his teeth Tony managed to gather enough composure to pull over before giving in and pressing his weight into the back of his chair, moaning. One freshly freed hand came in close to his crotch, the other claw-gripping his thigh as if that’d help any.

“Mr. Stark, are—are you okay? Can… Can I get out to go pee now?” Peter asked. His voice came out all cloying and tearful. He hadn’t meant to cry—he was an Avenger, and did any of the Avengers cry if they had to go pee? No!—but his abdomen was aching something fierce. It felt as if he had an ocean inside him and no matter how much wriggling he did he was beginning to struggle to keep it in. He had already sprinkled a little in his boxers and they were uncomfortably slick, cold and wet.

Tony had gotten lost in his own desperation. Only the sound of Peter’s strained little voice cut through Tony’s thoughts and brought him back down to reality with a swift wet bump. “No,” he said firmly, finding that pulling himself back from the brink gave him a level head for the next, oooh, two minutes at least. “It’s a busy road, kid. I don’t want you out there alone.” He scanned the road silently, twisting in his seat… and there he spotted it. An alley. Not the most attractive looking alleyway – dark, murky, patterned with old trash and empty beer bottles – but quite frankly it looked dark enough to hide them both and good enough to piss in. Then again, anything looked good enough to piss in right now.   
Except the car.   
Or his suit. 

Tony sighed, unlocking the car doors. “C’mon, kid, you ever gone al-fresco?”

☁

“Let rip, kid.” Tony’s voice bounced around the alley as he fumbled with the zipper of his suit.   
Goddamn it, why did his fingers not cooperate when he most needed them to?! Standing in front of the wall it was as though his entire body knew what was coming next. Heat and pressure pooled at his tip, made his breath catch, tangle then hitch in his throat. Immediately as he pulled himself out a heavy stream began beating down on the wall and dripping below. No time to even think about being embarrassed about this —having one of his most private moments when he really was at his weakest— in front of an audience consisting of the fifteen year old boy he mentored.  
The drop in pressure was instant and made Tony shiver involuntarily — at the same time, it pulled an ugly, spat-out moan of pleasure out from between his teeth.   
As the thick stream splattered down onto the ground Tony drifted away, his eyes closed, to where it was nothing but the sensation of him pissing drink after drink there on the wall and the tugging emptiness in his middle that spread outward and throughout his entire body. It was an odd sensation, near ethereal even if Tony didn’t necessarily believe in that kind of thing, as if the combination of his forceful piss and the resulting emptiness was enough to pull him out of his own body. 

It was only when his stream began to slow down to pathetic spits and dribbles that Tony snapped back to his own body again. It was only when he had snapped back to his own body again that he had heard it—a voice. It came to his ears distantly: a small, choked, “Mr. Stark?”   
Which was odd, because Peter wasn’t far away at all. 

“What’s going on sport?” Tony asked, tucking in. He didn’t understand. Well, he had been preoccupied with his own world-ending piss but… he had assumed… that Peter had been peeing all this time…

“Mr. Stark, I can’t—I can’t get at the zip.” Peter admitted in a whisper. He had been trying his hardest ever since Tony had parked him in front of the wall and told him to let go, but his hands had been shaky with desperation and his palms were damp with sweat and every time he mustered up the strength to give his zipper another yank he would lose grip of his bladder and force a warm weaving dribble to splatter down the inside of his legs. He had tried and tried to get Mr. Stark’s attention, but Mr. Stark was much too distracted to pay attention to him. There was nothing for Peter to do other than to potty dance like a seasoned pro (hands between legs, legs pressed in tight, hips swaying and toe tapping) and try not to give in and soak the suit he was wearing while he waited for Stark to finish up. And Stark, he… well, he had to go a lot.   
“Please help me, I- I don’t wanna mess up the suit,” he pleaded, marching urgently on the spot and all but dissolving into tears as he crumbled and began to lose the fight with warm pee pumping slowly into his boxers. 

“Oh, sprout…” Tony rubbed his temples. Fuck, he barely cared about the suit at this point if it meant Peter wouldn’t have been so desperate – and he had prioritised his own needs over Peter’s when Peter was just a kid.   
“I’m sorry, come on. I’ll help you.” He kneeled down in front of Peter and gently placed his hand over Peter’s clasped-closed ones, tight around his zipper. “I’m gonna move your hands, okay?”  
Peter sniffled but gave a nod all the same. Tony moved Peter’s hands as quickly as he could, trying not to pay too much attention to how Peter’s breaths came out so tight or how there were whimpers stitched into each one. He clasped his fingers around the hide-and-seek zipper and tugged with ease, tearing it down at the same time Peter spun to face the wall. “You’re okay kiddo, just let go,” Tony sighed at last, feeling the teenager tremble under his grip and wincing in sympathy. 

Thankfully, no sooner had Peter turned to the wall he had pulled himself out of his boxers and was practically spraying down the concrete as he went, thick droplets running down the wall and coming to a stop just before his feet.   
His toes curled in his shoes as slowly the heavy pressure in his lower tummy began to dwindle in favour of a gentle emptiness. He leaned back onto his heels as he went— accidentally colliding back into Tony. Rather than jump away from him he melted there and mumbled softly, incoherently, blissed-out. There was no way he was stopping to move over now. Usually he would have been embarrassed, but he was too desperate to care any. Stark was just going to have to close his eyes or something.   
His stream ran heavy and strong, bubbling and steaming against the wall it was coming out with such force. It was only after a solid minute or so the stream began to lose its fervency and twisted into a smaller golden arc, before finally it turned into tiny droplets and then… nothing at all.   
As the heavy splattering died out Peter let out a hard gasp he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. Holy… holy crap. That had been too close, _‘almost an emergency’_ kinda close! Peter couldn’t remember a time he had peed like that in his entire life!

“Hell, kiddo.” Tony whistled. “You must’ve been in agony.” 

Peter flushed pink right up from his neck and nodded as he tucked in. “That really was an emergency.” He admitted. “I don’t know if I made it all the way.”

Tony shrugged. “We have washing machines at the Tower. You’ll be fine.” 

“You… you looked like you really had to go too, Mr. Stark.” Peter said as Tony cuddled him close on their way back to the car. He didn’t know if he was allowed to say that — but he had said it now. He didn’t quite know why a tiny part of him was so fascinated, either. He just supposed that Tony Stark was as much of a superhero as Iron Man was – and that, that meant no bathroom breaks, ever. Hell, Peter had never seen Tony rush off to pee ever - before today! 

Tony chuckled, both at Peter’s comment and the awe-laced tone of voice it came out in. “I did, kiddo.” He admitted. “I’m only human. That’s what happens when people keep handing you champagne.”

“Orange juice,” Peter agreed, grimacing, although he was sure his problem had risen because Mr. Stark wasn't around to usher him off.

Tony let out another belly laugh of amusement at that comment. It was like having a mini version of himself. “I’ll get you a milkshake for your OJ hangover tomorrow morning, kid.” He teased. 

Peter beamed. He much preferred visiting the milkshake bar with Mr. Stark than visiting fancy Expo things with Mr. Stark. “The one with the Oreos?”

“Sure, kid. Just one, though. I’m not having a repeat of today.”

Peter nodded seriously, and the pair piled into Stark’s Audi to head home.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic gave me hell. First PROPER omo fic I've written in YEARS so it's rusty as hell. And so long!!!!! I almost wasn't going to post it. Idk. I feel like it's not as good as I wanted it to be. But, you've got it now. So, eh!
> 
> I toyed with making Pepper into it. Tony's desperation I mean. Hehe. ^///^


End file.
